


better now than groaning for love

by Carmarthen



Category: Romeo And Juliet - All Media Types, Rómeó és Júlia (Színház)
Genre: Banter, Character Study, Friends With Benefits, M/M, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-15
Updated: 2013-12-15
Packaged: 2018-01-04 17:02:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1083473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carmarthen/pseuds/Carmarthen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After he leaves Romeo to dream of Julia and Benvolio to his bed, Mercutio finds someone else waiting for him on the steps of his brother's house.</p><p>  <i>Zorzi gave a snort. "You, earthbound? Wingèd Mercury himself would have a devil of a time to catch you in one of your moods."</i></p><p>  <i>"That is one thing," said Mercutio, slipping a companionable arm around Zorzi's shoulders, square and strong under the plain brown velvet of his doublet. A curl of hair caught and twisted around Mercutio's fingers. "But Romeo flies on love's light wings, and love is as true a material as wax: it melts in the sunlight."</i></p><p>(Contains some misogyny, homophobia, and anti-Semitism as one might expect from the period and setting.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	better now than groaning for love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [acaramelmacchiato](https://archiveofourown.org/users/acaramelmacchiato/gifts).



> acaramelmacchiato and I nicknamed [this background extra](http://carmarthenfan.tumblr.com/post/68037993014/found-this-pic-digging-through-the-r-es-j) Mercutio's Eyeroll Boyfriend, and of course then she prompted me to write it. (As it turns out, he played Benvolio at some point and this is probably a photo from that time, but oh well, I didn't know that when I wrote this.)
> 
> As usual, based on the Hungarian musical production, but set in a sort of handwaved fantasy version of 16th century Verona. Zorzi is an actual 16th century Italian name (although not necessarily Veronese). Mostly an exercise in trying to write Mercutio dialogue.

"You disappeared after the Capulet party."

The words were light enough, and Zorzi leaned against the cold marble steps of Valentine's house as if they were the scented cushions of a courtesan's bedchamber, one dark lock of hair falling rakishly over his broad forehead. The picture of an idle young man about town, merely resting in a doorway.

Mercutio knew him better than that. "Does my brother know you're here?"

A shrug of a narrow shoulder. Zorzi took a pull from the bottle dangling loosely from his right hand and said, "If so, he has not set the dogs on me yet."

"An improvement over last time."

Last time, Valentine had had words to say about Mercutio's Jewish catamite, and precisely how unwelcome Mercutio himself would be if he continued to entertain such company. This had been followed by a dull lecture on the honor of the family name, during which Mercutio had occupied himself in considering a number of ways to sneak Zorzi in without being caught.

The delicious irony was that, at the time, they had been entirely occupied elsewhere: Zorzi in pursuit of some little Montague girl-cousin, her chastity guarded as surely as the Prince's treasure, her like not for a mere retainer and a Jew to boot; Mercutio in a disgusting romantic folly of pining for the unattainable. He had since abandoned the pining, if not the reason for it. Love could be a bitter ache, a canker in the heart; he was Verona's son and knew love well, the mirror sister to hatred. Any man who patched his broken heart with laughter and wit and blade knew that neither sister was fair, but both dark and intemperate. 

But that he was not himself proof to that wound for all his outward jesting was no reason to deny himself the pleasures of the flesh. His beloved loved lightly and often, with the wind's obliviousness to what destruction was wreaked in its wake.

Pining was for fools and women.

And Zorzi had a quick wit and a ready smile, always ready for a jape or a fight; there were worse distractions.

"I thought you were with us," said Zorzi, uncurling himself from the steps with a dancer's grace and holding out the bottle. It was Sangiovese, tart as sour cherries and faintly spicy; perhaps stronger than Mercutio ought to drink if he did not want to wake with an aching head.

But he remembered, suddenly, the slack press of Romeo's lips against his, his spluttered laugh, as if it could be nothing more than a joke. Mercutio grimaced and took a deeper drink, then wiped his mouth. "I had business," he said, and handed the bottle back. "If my friends must needs be fools who seek to fly, then will I do my duty to keep them earthbound, as is proper for us creatures of clay, lest they tumble from such lofty heights and break their pretty fool necks."

Zorzi gave a snort. "You, earthbound? Wingèd Mercury himself would have a devil of a time to catch you in one of your moods."

"That is one thing," said Mercutio, slipping a companionable arm around Zorzi's shoulders, square and strong under the plain brown velvet of his doublet. A curl of hair caught and twisted around Mercutio's fingers. "But Romeo flies on love's light wings, and love is as true a material as wax: it melts in the sunlight." He waved his free hand to indicate feathers fluttering to the ground; against his arm, he felt Zorzi laugh, silently.

Mercutio let his hand drift, fingers tracing under the ruffle of Zorzi's shirt collar, stroking slowly where his pulse beat fast under smooth brown skin. He fancied he felt a little hitch of breath as Zorzi said, hands splayed in mockery and the whites of his eyes showing in the moonlight as he rolled them heavenward, "Oh, _Romeo._ "

“Aye, _Romeo,_ ” Mercutio replied; and if he sounded more bitter than he should have, there was the wine to blame, and the night. A strange night, in all respects. “Come, give me some more of Jove’s blood and see if it lends me his vigor as well.”

“Will you make love to me on the stairs like one of your tarts?” said Zorzi, with some asperity, but he passed the bottle again to Mercutio. “You may have Jove's vigor, but I would hope you have more discrimination.”

“It is not as if you are a _cow,_ ” said Mercutio, and perhaps he was beginning to feel the wine in the languor that seeped into his limbs, the warmth pooling in his belly. “Nor am I a rain of gold to ope your lap.”

“Not that you have ever needed to be,” Zorzi grumbled, but he kissed back readily enough; he tasted of wine and laughter, and there was no hesitation in the hands that tangled in Mercutio’s hair and played with the buttons of his doublet. “I am neither a saint nor a tart, but it truly is too cold tonight for the stairs.”

“Then let us retire,” Mercutio murmured against his lips, and thought no more of Romeo.

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. Sangiovese = _sanguis Jovis_ = blood of Jove
> 
> 2\. For a bonus game, play spot the probably-inappropriate Shakespeare _Romeo and Juliet_ references. There are at least three, not counting the title. Catch one and I'll write you a drabble for whatever version of R &J you like that I'm familiar with (original Shakespeare, Hungarian, Takarazuka, Italian, or maybe French).
> 
> As always, feedback much appreciated.


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